


The Stood Up Set Up

by valda



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Blind Date, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 05:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15942914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valda/pseuds/valda
Summary: Armitage Hux and Kylo Ren are both set up on blind dates by their coworker, Phasma. But there seems to be some confusion...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rudbeckia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudbeckia/gifts).



> Originally posted on Tumblr [here](http://cosleia.tumblr.com/post/176848577723/ooh-fic-request-kylo-and-hux-each-on-blind-dates).

“ _You_.”

He didn’t mean to say anything, but at the sight of that riot of shining black hair, the word is spitting past his lips before he can stop it.

Ren turns his head to look over his shoulder, his distinctive nose coming into profile. He lets out a huff. “Hux.”

“I suppose you’re here to ruin  _this_  for me as well?” Armitage can’t seem to shut up. He glares as Ren turns to face him.

“It’s none of your business what I’m here for,” Ren says, leaning back on his elbows against the bar. He narrows his eyes. “What are  _you_  doing here?”

“Nothing,” Armitage says, which is the stupidest thing he could possibly say, but it’s not like he practiced any comebacks in preparation for the evening. All his scenarios had involved small talk and/or sexual innuendo.

“Feel free to get the fuck out, then,” Ren says.

“No. I’m meeting someone.” Armitage steps up to the bar and waves for the bartender. “Stop talking to me so I don’t miss them.”

“You started it, asshole.” Ren turns his back to Armitage. His extremely broad back, which is straining the rich purple button-down he’s wearing. His slacks are better fitting, loose in the legs and just tight enough at the arse. Ren is apparently dressed to impress.

Armitage rolls his eyes, but a creeping sense of doubt begins curling in his gut. What if the blind date Phasma found for him sees Ren first? What will he think of Armitage after seeing  _that_?

Armitage orders a drink.

~

They’ve been standing at the bar, two seats away from each other, for thirty minutes now. Armitage refuses to look directly at Ren. He won’t.

Whatever Ren’s doing here, at least it doesn’t seem to involve Armitage. Ren’s been shifting around restlessly, checking his phone, glancing at the entrance to the bar, and completely ignoring Armitage’s existence. Armitage will extend him the same dubious courtesy.

He’s glancing surreptitiously in Ren’s direction for the umpteenth time when Ren says suddenly, “Can you meet whoever it is somewhere else?” Armitage can’t help but look at him at that. Ren’s face is troubled, in turns angry, frustrated, and pensive.

“No,” Armitage says. “This is where we’re supposed to meet.”

“Fucking shit,” Ren says. “You complicate  _everything_.”

“ _I_  complicate everything?” Armitage splutters. “What about you, always ignoring proper procedures and making messes I have to clean up?”

“Your ‘proper procedures’ are a waste of time, and you make plenty of messes I have to deal with,” Ren says.

“I’ve never made a mess in my  _life_ ,” Armitage says.

A laugh barks out of Ren’s throat so suddenly even he seems surprised. “I’m sure you believe that,” he says.

“It’s  _true_.”

Ren rolls his eyes. “Who are you meeting, and why the fuck aren’t they here yet?” he demands.

“I don’t know,” Armitage answers without thinking. He adds hastily, “I mean, I don’t know why he’s late.”

“The guy I’m meeting is late too,” Ren grumbles. “I don’t want you around when he gets here.”

Armitage blinks, affronted. “I don’t want  _you_  here when  _my_ date gets here either.”

“So it’s a date,” Ren says.

 _Shit_.

“Who the fuck would ever go out with  _you_? Wait, don’t tell me, it’s that suck-up Mitaka from marketing.”

Armitage presses his lips firmly shut.

“Thanisson? Opan? Peavey, maybe?”

“Oh, do shut up,” Armitage snaps.

Ren sighs dramatically and orders a beer.

It becomes a game—who’ll give up and leave the bar first? Hours pass as they stand there staring daggers at each other, patrons coming and going all around, no one ever approaching either of them. And then, suddenly, last call has come and gone, and the bartender is shooing them toward the door.

Armitage will not say a word to Ren. He will not. He won’t give Ren the opportunity to gloat.

He spins on his heel and marches to the exit, flinging the door open, gasping at the hot summer humidity. Ren’s right behind him, cursing the heat. They glance at each other, scowling. Then they turn and stalk off in opposite directions.


	2. Chapter 2

“Last night was a fucking waste, Phasma,” Kylo says, staring down his nose at his supposed friend and hoping his sneer is outraged enough. “I stood there for fucking  _hours_ like a  _dipshit_.”

“He didn’t show?” Phasma asks. Kylo can’t tell if she’s surprised or not.

“No, he didn’t fucking show,” Kylo huffs at her. “Fucking asshole. And you’ll never believe who  _was_ there, the whole fucking time.”

Phasma blinks at him. “Who?”

“Armitage motherfucking Hux,” Kylo spits.

“What? Really?” Phasma’s toneless speech is starting to irritate Kylo—even when she’s definitely surprised, she sounds like she isn’t.

“Yup,” Kylo says. “All dolled up like he was trying to steal my date or something. You should have  _seen_  the pants he had on.”

“You saw his pants?”

Kylo gives Phasma a look. “His  _trousers_ , whatever. They were ridiculous, Phas. They were practically fucking leggings. And then that sweater, the neck was so wide you could see his fucking collarbone. He sure as shit doesn’t dress like that at work.”

“Interesting,” Phasma says. “How was his hair?”

“Loose. Guess he forgot to dunk his head in a tank of hair gel before leaving the house.”

“Oh really? Did it look good like that?”

Kylo squints at her. “Who the fuck cares about Hux’s hair?”

“I’m just curious,” Phasma says.

“Fine, sure, it looked good,” Kylo allows, thinking back to the way Hux’s hair fell softly around his face, the lack of gel giving it more body. It set off his remarkable cheekbones and complemented his green eyes. “He should just leave it down all the time, honestly,” Kylo says. Then he shakes his head. “Satisfied now? Can we get back to the point here?”

“Which is?”

“How you’re gonna repay me for setting me up with a dude who stood me up.”

“Ah,” Phasma says. “All right, look. I’ll get in touch with him. Maybe there was a misunderstanding.”

“Not sure what’s so hard about  _Maz’s at 8 o’clock, meet at the bar_ , but fuck it, fine. See what excuse he has.”

~

“He thought it was Max’s, not Maz’s,” Phasma declares a few hours later as Kylo is getting up from his desk to leave for the day. “He’d like another chance. He’ll meet you tonight at Maz’s, if you’re up for it.”

“Seriously?” Kylo grouses. He does want to meet someone—his dry spell has lasted so long he’s started ogling Hux when the asshole isn’t looking—but after staying out all night last night, then working a full day, he’s not sure he feels like doing much more than microwaving a frozen dinner and falling asleep watching MasterChef.

Hux would like that, wouldn’t he? If Kylo spent the evening at home like a loser.

“Come on,” Phasma says. “I’m  _sure_  you’ll like him.”

Kylo shrugs his blazer onto his shoulders. “All right,” he relents. “Fine.”


	3. Chapter 3

Unbelievable. The utter  _gall_. There isn’t a bar called “Max’s” anywhere near Maz’s. After being handed such a flimsy excuse, Armitage should have said no to trying to meet again. But he can’t help himself. He has to know who this prick thinks he is.

If he’s hot enough, maybe Armitage will forgive him for a night. Otherwise, Armitage is going to make sure he knows what he’s missing.

Last night he wore a comfortable, wide-necked sweater and long trousers; tonight he’s not leaving much at all to the imagination. A black mesh crop top hugs his chest, three-quarter sleeves silhouetting his arms. Low on his hips, a pair of stylishly cut-off jean shorts put his thighs on full display. Black patent leather go go boots elevate him to an even more impressive height, and as a finishing touch, he’s painted his fingernails a glittery copper.

“You’ve got to be  _shitting_ me,” comes the most unwelcome voice Armitage could possibly hear at the moment. “Hux, what the  _fuck_.” It’s Ren, shoving his way through the crowd to get to the bar. Then he gets past the wall of bodies separating them and actually gets a look at him. “What the fuck are you  _wearing_?”

“Why are  _you_  here?” Armitage hisses, forcing himself not to cover his nipples with his hands. He can feel them tightening, pushing against the mesh. One of them pokes through as it peaks.

“Rescheduled my date,” Ren says distractedly. His eyes are roving Armitage’s body…as well they should be. Armitage can at least take some grim satisfaction in that.

Wait.

“So  _you_  were on a date last night as well?”

“Fucking shit,” Ren says.

“Who would want to date  _you_?” Armitage asks gleefully, throwing Ren’s words from last night in his face.

“Plenty of guys,” Ren growls, slouching his hands into his pockets. He hasn’t bothered to change from what he was wearing at work, a pair of jeans with a polo shirt and blazer. Not particularly interested in impressing tonight, apparently. The less stylish clothes don’t detract at all from his rich brown eyes and over-expressive mouth, though. Armitage is glad he pulled out all the stops with his own outfit.

“If you say so,” Armitage sniffs, taking a sip of his martini. “Well, don’t let me keep you.”

“We’re meeting  _here_ ,” Ren says, sounding exasperated.

“Why the fuck—” Armitage closes his eyes and lets out a long breath through his nose. “Honestly. The same meeting place the next night?”

“And I suppose you’re just here to–to stand around and drink martinis looking like  _that_ ,” Ren says.

Armitage feels a flush rising on the back of his neck and hopes it doesn’t spread to his face or ears. “What if I am?”

Ren stares at him a moment. Then he swings around in a violent motion, as though the simple act of turning away takes a great deal of effort. “Fine. You do whatever,” he says without looking back.

~

Quite a few men take notice of Armitage this time, standing close and buying him drinks. None of them is particularly attractive, and none of them is apparently his date. After dismissing his sixth suitor he pushes himself up onto a bar stool and scowls at his second pina colada.

No one has approached Ren at all. That’s a comfort, at least, though as the minutes drag into hours Armitage can’t help but wonder why. Ren is the perfect specimen, after all.

“Ren,” he calls, trilling the R a little because he can. “He still hasn’t shown up?”

Ren looks over and positively glowers.

“So sorry,” Armitage says. “Buy you a drink?”

A look of confusion crosses Ren’s face. “You’re not gonna gloat?” he mumbles as he sidles up.

“Of course I am,” Armitage says. “Have you  _seen_  how many men have bought  _me_  drinks? I’m just trying to help you catch up. You poor thing.”

“Asshole,” Ren says, but he doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans closer; Armitage thinks he can feel Ren’s body heat but it might just be the ambient heat of the bar, Armitage’s own temperature raised by drink.

“I’m magnanimous,” Armitage informs Ren, raising a hand to summon the bartender. “Get this man a—”

“—bottle of tequila,” Ren interrupts. Armitage gapes at him. “Thought you were magnanimous,” Ren says, and he’s grinning now, that smile that wrinkles his face up like some sort of deathly adorable puppy.

“You know what? Fine. Two glasses,” Armitage says.

~

“Hey,” Ren says after they’ve done their third shot. He’s sitting on the bar now, one foot propped up on the lacquered wood surface.

Armitage, who at this point is standing on top of the bar swaying to the music, bends down shakily in order to hear him. “What?”

“You have a nice tummy.”

Armitage laughs. “It’s nothing like yours,” he says. “Whoever stood you up twice in a row is some kind of idiot.”

Ren’s face looks pink. “Really?” he asks, warm breath washing over Armitage’s face.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, you big oaf. Like you don’t know.” Armitage stumbles a bit, and Ren catches his hand, helping him sit down on the bar.

“Huh,” Ren says. After a moment he adds, “Whoever stood you up yesterday is an idiot too.”

“Yesterday  _and_  today,” Armitage informs him. “Same as you.” He half-leans, half-collapses into Ren’s shoulder.

“No shit,” Ren says softly. “That’s fucked up.”

“Somewhere out there are two idiots who don’t know what they’re missing,” Armitage proclaims. His eyes drift closed.

Ren is quiet for so long that Armitage falls into a light sleep. When Ren does speak, low and hesitant, Armitage isn’t sure it’s actually happening, or if it’s part of a dream.

“I can’t believe anyone wouldn’t want you.”


	4. Chapter 4

Saturday morning finds Kylo face-down in bed, his nose squashed into a pillow. He vaguely remembers dreaming something pleasant, something warm and fluttery, but the instant he tries to remember what it was, pain stabs through both his temples.

“Ugh,” he moans, turning his head and immediately regretting it as blinding light sears its way through his eyelids. He raises an uncoordinated hand to his eyes, covering them enough to squint them open and discern that the culprit is sunlight pouring in through the open blinds over the window next to his bed.

He’s home, then. That’s good.

The spike of pain in his temples shifts into a dull throb at the back of his head, and he groans again. It’s been awhile since he drank that much. He should get up, get some water.

He’s not sure how long it takes him to actually act on this thought. When he finally does, every step he takes sends pain shooting through him. He staggers into the bathroom, turns on the tap and just stands there, gazing blearily at his bedraggled reflection. Finally it occurs to him to drink, and he cups his hands beneath the stream of cold water and brings some to his mouth.

After he’s had what he estimates to be enough water, Kylo lurches back to the bedroom to find his phone and check the time. But then he stops, blinks, frowns.

There’s someone in his bed.

A slim, pale arm is flung over the mess of covers. Kylo looks closer; there’s a leg, too, and a big black boot with enormous chunky heels. Scrubbing at his eyes, Kylo moves forward until a haystack of red-gold hair comes into view.

Fuck.

He’s remembering his dream again, only he’s not sure it was a dream now that he sees that that dickhead Armitage Hux is  _in his bed_.

Kylo finds his phone on the floor next to the nightstand. He picks it up, fumbles it, picks it up again. Then he moves to the living room and settles down on the couch to get his head straight.

So. He went to Maz’s again, he remembers that. He had a couple beers. And then—

Kylo closes his eyes and tips his head back. Most of it’s a blur, but he does remember Hux, wearing that—he doesn’t even know how to describe it. But it was a fucking  _good look_. All the guys in the bar were all over him.

They had drinks, Kylo thinks. Hux is probably just as bad off as he is. He should probably bring Hux some water or something.

Kylo stumbles to the kitchen, pours a glass of water, and carries it back to the bedroom. Just as he’s about to step through the doorway, he hears Hux’s voice.

“It happened  _again_ , Phasma. At this point I’m starting to wonder if this is revenge for something.” Hux pauses, and Kylo holds his breath. “No. You’re having a go at me. I’m not interested in any more stories. You were having a laugh.” Another pause. Kylo looks down at the water glass in his hands. “Good  _bye_ , Phasma,” Hux says loudly, and then he sighs and Kylo hears a soft  _thump_. “Ow.”

Kylo reenters the bedroom and finds Hux sprawled out across the bed, staring at the ceiling. He’s fully clothed, in the same outfit from last night. The black mesh top and extremely short shorts look out of place in the light of day. “Hux,” Kylo says, forcing his eyes to Hux’s face.

Hux turns his head, frowning. “Ren. I was wondering whose house this was.”

“Have some water.”

Wordlessly, Hux sits up and takes the glass. He looks at Kylo as he sips steadily, eyes roving from Kylo’s face down to his clothes, which are also the same as last night’s—yesterday’s work clothes. Finally Hux lowers the glass. “I see we are in roughly the same state,” he says.

“It was a wild night,” Kylo says.

“Was it?” Hux frowns, shifts a bit on the bed. “I don’t remember.”

“Lots of tequila,” Kylo says, because he remembers that part now. “Did I…?” And his eyes drop to Hux’s exposed belly button. Surely he would remember  _that_ , if he’d actually done it. “No, I must have just thought about it,” he mutters.

“Thought about what?” Hux takes another pull from the glass.

“Nothing.” Kylo edges down to sit on the bed and rubs at his eyes.

“I must have been really out of it,” Hux says. “I don’t remember coming here.” Kylo looks at him, but he says nothing else.

“We were both stood up,” Kylo says finally.

“Two nights in a row,” Hux confirms, squeezing his eyes shut. “A rather ludicrous coincidence, wouldn’t you say?” He sighs. “This will teach me to trust Phasma to set me up with anyone.”

That explains the phone call. But… “Hold up,” Kylo says, frowning. “Phasma set you up? Phasma set  _me_  up.”

“…Jesus,” Hux says after a beat. “She set  _us_  up. That fucking bitch. Sent us to the same place so we’d spend all night making each other miserable.”

“Fuck,” Kylo says. So there’s no blind date, no  _perfect guy_. There’s nothing but Hux and his stupid giant sweater and stupid see-through crop top and stupid too-short shorts.

Hux is quiet for a moment. Then he says, “I’m going to call a cab.”

Kylo nods dumbly.

Hux rises from the bed, a little shaky in his tall boots. He pulls his crop top back into position over his upper torso, tugs his jean shorts down a bit to cover more of his ass.

Kylo watches as Hux calls the cab service, one hand on his hip and the other holding his phone, fingernails glinting gold. He looks like a beggar who’s just been revealed as a prince in disguise, elegant features and royal bearing impossible to fully hide.

~

Kylo calls Phasma as soon as Hux’s cab has turned the corner. “That was really shitty of you,” he says when she picks up.

“What?” Phasma asks. She sounds tired.

“Making up blind dates so Hux and I would spend all night together. Two fucking nights in a row.”

“For fuck’s sake, Kylo.” Phasma audibly draws a breath. “The blind date was you and Armitage. There wasn’t anybody else because you were supposed to date  _each other_.”

“…What.” Kylo drops heavily onto the couch. His head throbs. “What the fuck. Phasma. He  _hates_  me. And I hate him.”

“I invite you to explore that feeling a little more,” Phasma sighs more than says. “Get back to me when you’ve figured out how to tell the difference between ‘hate’ and ‘unresolved sexual tension’.”

She hangs up.

Kylo sits on his couch for some time after that, cradling his phone in both hands, staring at the darkened screen. He finally unlocks it again and opens his contacts. His finger hovers over  _Redheaded Dickwad_.

Kylo draws a long breath, lets it out again slowly, and presses the call button.


End file.
